


The Phantom and The Masked Musician

by lesbianmermaid



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-10-27 20:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17774087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianmermaid/pseuds/lesbianmermaid
Summary: Erik is a respected masked composer with an iron grip on his opera house. Christine is a young homeless girl who lives in the operas basement and becomes the “opera ghost” after she started stealing things to survive. The two meet and the story isn't quite the same.





	1. Chapter 1

The Palais Garnier was a bustling building filled to the brim with working artist and savvy patrons alike.  
Little Ballet rats scattered about in as their ballet mistress, the stern Madame Giry, herded them into rehearsal. Even Giry’s own daughter, the tallest of the young bunch, Meg tried to get out of it.  
The chorus members nervously chattered as the prima donna, La Carlotta, threw a tantrum about her costume, or the lights, or the violinist or whatever displeased her at the moment.

The composer monsieur Reyer was impatiently tried to distract the beautiful woman from her rage and move along with rehearsal. Monsieur Gabriel, the chorus master, was too much a coward to stand up to his demanding Diva.  
The managers, Andre and Firmin, hid away in their office and instructed their long-suffering secretary Remy to keep everyone out.  
Everyone meaning monsieur Erik De Champdivers.  
Erik has been a long-standing and respected member of the music world. The opera house at large owes its astounding success to his influence and dedication. The managers owe him their livelihood and every penny they’ve made since arriving. And god knows he won’t let them forget it. The towering man strode purposefully to their office. Dressmakers and prop boys kept their head down and scurried out of his way. No one wanted to get caught staring at his bone white mask. His abundant wealth made him intimidating enough without his array of masks hiding his face from the world.  
He marched past Remy and threw open the office door.  
The two managers jumped. Firmin sighed and steeled himself for at least an hour of cutting remarks about the progression of Erik’s newest concerto.

Below them, beneath the floorboards beneath the empty rooms below, stands a young girl wandering down a dusty catacomb.  
Her bright green-blue eyes watched every shadow, her small hungry body jumped at every sound, and her nose twitched with the dust swirling in the air.  
She was clutching the food she had stolen from the world above.  
Her feet sought to bring her back to her abandoned palace on the shores of a glassy underground lake.  
The songstress in her made her stop, right underneath the stage.  
She could hear the echoes of wonderful music dance through the air.  
The notes traveled to her ears, and she corrected her posture, just like her papa taught her.  
She inhaled a full breath of air and sang.  
Little did she know to above world heard her and feared her song.  
They heard her haunting notes and luring sirens’ song.  
That’s when the whispers began.  
“It’s the phantom of the opera.” said the hushed voices.  
Christine Daae finished her song and gathered her things.  
She began her decent back underground.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very pleased with this chapter. I didn't realize that the e/c content in this fic would be so good. for those of you who enjoy r/c, raoul will be making an appearance next chapter if all goes as planned! until then I hope you enjoy this.

 

Erik was pacing. He was in his office and thinking heavily. It had been two weeks since the rumor of an ‘opera ghost’ circulated around. They spoke of an enchanting voice singing in the walls. Food and props going missing. Footsteps beneath the floorboards

It all pointed to an unknown factor. Erik ground his teeth and worked his jaw. 

He didn’t find such things pleasant.

He strained his ear for any sign of a person in the walls. He had thought he had shut up most of the entrances to the underground tunnels a few years ago.

He was pondering it when his wish was granted.

_ Oh. _

_ That voice. _

Logically Erik knew It was the sound of a high and clear soprano. Lacking in technical training but plenty of natural talent.

Erik was far beyond thinking logically.

It was the most captivating sound Erik had heard in his entire life.

And it was moving away.

Erik sprang into action.

He bolted over to the hidden opening to the catacombs and fumbled with the opening.

He barely remembered to close the door behind him.

He kept his footsteps quiet as he followed the voice deeper underground.

The feminine voice was singing in a language Erik was not familiar with. It had been a long time for him since that happened.

It’s steady rising and falling of the music gave the performer in Erik a decent idea of what her range might be. He was itching to truly test the ability of the voice.

He wondered how a person not accustomed to the darkness could even find their way down there.

Light gently filtered in.

A sparse few candles were lit to the mouth of the underground lake. The owner of the voice struggled with the boat for a moment before getting in.

Erik could not allow her to row away.

He sprinted forth into the lake, seized the back of the boat with his hands and pulled.

His eyes met hers. 

They were the color of a peacock feather, He thought. 

She screamed, and it assured Erik in his assessment that she was a soprano.

He hurried to hush her.

“Wait, stop, Erik has no intention of harming you!” He scrambled. Hindsight from about twenty seconds ago was 20/20. He ought should have said something before he came barreling toward her. It was too late to change anything now.

She stopped screaming for a moment and Erik rushed to speak before she could start again.

“What are you doing down here?” He asked. For the first time in perhaps decades, he was careful of his tone.

Her freckled nose scrunched, and she adopted a look of false indignation. 

“I live here.” She said with confidence Erik was sure she did not truly feel.

“Really?” Erik replied, layering skepticism and sarcasm into his tone.

The girl stalled before giving a hesitant nod. Erik could near see how her fake bravado fizzled out of her.

“Erik supposes by ‘here’ you mean the house across the lake.” Erik continued in a more conversational tone.

Pieces of this puzzle were falling into place. Erik gleefully turned them over and over in his mind as they revealed the truth to him.

“I do.” She answered. She fidgeted with the dirty ripped skirt she wore. Her nimble fingers fixated on a single loose thread. Erik realized he was staring and snapped his yellow eyes back to the girls face.

She has rather lovely features he realized. He couldn’t quite make out the details but her bright eyes and porcelain skin seemed to glow in the dark. He could make out the myriad of freckles and button nose. 

A pretty if unassuming face hiding raw talent of which Erik had never seen.

Erik stepped forward and the girl coward into her corner of the boat.

It made Erik pause for a moment. He leaned out her space and saw her relax. 

Interesting.

“Erik doesn’t suppose you know who the true owner of the house is, hmm? You’ve never met him, my dear?” 

The answer to Erik’s leading question dawned in her eyes. She swallowed convulsively and her lips moved with unspoken words.

She finally gathered herself together enough to reply with moxy. “I suppose I’m speaking to him, aren’t I?” She asked faintly.

A deep chuckle vibrated through Erik's chest.

He saw her thick brows draw together in worry and a thought struck him. 

Warmth in his chest spread as he realized the opportunity he had.

_ That voice. _

_ His to perfect and mold. _

“Not to worry. Erik believes an arrangement can be made if you are willing.” He stated.

Suspicion and distrust flooded her face.

She was so very easy to read. It was an endearing quality to Erik, who faced the like of malicious actresses such as La Carlotta and stony moral compasses like Nadir on a day-to-day basis. 

“There is nothing I will offer you.” She replied. Her nose twitched when she was anxious. 

Erik noted the use of ‘will’ and felt his respect for the courage of this little thing increase.

“Erik sincerely hopes you will reconsider. He has no intention of harming you, miss..?”

The girl didn’t fall for the bait. Her wide eyes remained watching Erik’s every move. They flicked back and forth as she tried to find a way of graceful escape.

It occurred to Erik that perhaps he should be honest.

It’s not a tactic he uses often and even now it leaves his skin itching to think about doing so.

He remembered the bewitching song she is capable of and decided it was worth the gamble.

“Your voice.” He stated.

The girl stopped her searching for a way out and slowly brought her eyes back to him.

“My voice?” She repeated. She didn’t bother to hide the surprise in her question.

Erik saw his opening and leaped at it.

He stepped out of the lake and into the boat.

He held his hand out to take the oar from the girl.

She stared at his hand. Her brows furrowed as she glanced back at her only advantage over him.

“Erik intends to take you back to his house. He’s sure you’ve seen the instruments there. They will prove useful while he listens to your voice.” Erik explained. It was an odd feeling, a tug in his chest almost, to explain himself to her.

_ He was so close. _

_ He couldn’t afford to scare her away now. _

She reluctantly handed over the oar.

They glided through the water in silence.

She kept opening her mouth and closing it, her brows knitting together as she lost herself in her thoughts.

When she finally looked up at him it seemed she had found what she wanted to say.

“So your name is... Erik then?” She stated. 

He gave a half bow and did not reply.

Another five minutes passed before she added. “Well, I’m Christine. Christine Daae.”

_ Christine. _

Charmont.

He had the urge to sing it. To show this little slip of a thing- _Christine_ \- what he could do.

He inhaled and sang.

“ _Chriiiiiiistine_.”

Her whole body jolted as the water beside her sang her name. She whipped her head around, her mountain of curls flying, jostling the boat in an attempt to find the source of the voice.

Erik couldn’t keep this thin lips from curling when she snapped her attention to him.

“Wha- you- di-” she spluttered. He waited for her to gather herself.

“You?!” She ranged. Her fist coiled and her pale face flushed. Her endlessly searching eyes piled accusations and questions onto him.

He opened his mouth and let her see him. 

“ _Chriiiiiiiiistiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine_.” He crooned to her.

Her expression changed from angry surprise to dawning wonder.

“You…” Christine faltered. Erik made eye contact and awaited her verdict. “You have the voice of an angel.” She whispered in hushed reverence.

Erik blinked. It wasn’t what he had been expecting her to say. The genuine smile that warmed over her face had Erik catching his voice in his throat. It was a truly flattering statement.

“Erik thanks you.” He choked out. Her smile dimmed only slightly. 

Christine had a gap between her front teeth. It made her smile all the more charming Erik found.

The boat hit the shore and Erik held his hand for Christine to grab as she exited.

Her hesitant acceptance of his help made something in Erik glow.

There was no time to consider it now, however.

She stood next to him and Erik had to stop himself from remarking on her size.

She was extraordinarily petite. She had a healthy enough figure for her circumstances and was very tiny.

He was cautious gripping her little hand in his skeletal on.

She walked ahead of him as he attempted to right his thoughts.

Her height didn’t matter in the least. He was being ridiculous. 

He lead her to the room with the organ. Given all the dust, and that everything seemed to be just as he left it, Erik concluded she didn’t spend time in here.

“You’ve made yourself at home.” He commented dryly. 

Christine bristled.

“I only needed the bed and stove.” She sniffed at him. She lifted her chin high and marched into the room with her back straight.

Erik covered his amusement with a cough.

He sat at his organ and looked back to her.

“Erik trusts you’ve properly warmed up?” He said. He assumed as much from her performance earlier.

Christine flashed from being an unapologetic sprite to a nervous performer in a second. Erik was thankful for her inability to guard her even slightest thought. Her shifting moods were changing as the sky. It would be a nightmare where they not so easy to read.

“Erik wants you to try this.” He began to play and started the melody in a low voice.

Christine matched him with perfect pitch.

He encouraged her to go higher.

She easily met the challenge.

Erik could feel the excitement course through his veins.

She went higher, and higher and higher…

“Sing! Sing for Erik!” He encouraged her.

Her voice along with Erik seemed to grow more frantic.

She seemed unwilling to go beyond a c6.

She repeated the note several times.

The excitement turned into heated fury.

He knew she was capable of just a little more.

He could feel it in his bones.

_ So why wasn’t she singing? _

He lunged forward and banged out the notes on the organ.

“ ** _SING_**.” He roared with burning fire.

_ There.  _

A crystalline e6.

It pierced the air and bounced off the walls.

Erik closed his eyes.

Perfection.

He opened them.

He looked at Christine.

She was panting heavily, clutching her throat with a look of awestruck wonder.

Erik realized he too was heaving for air.

She looked at him with a clear question in her eyes. Did I do that?

Erik nodded. 

“Now,” He said, “Let us begin your first lesson.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Really hope you enjoy this chapter. Just about everyone is introduced. I'm using characters from about every incarnation of Phantom to build a new world, sorry if it's confusing. If you're wondering where any of the characters come from let me know and i'll be happy to point to to which adaptation i'm stealing from. Erik, Christine, and Raoul all interact for the first time this chapter. I'm honestly really proud of it. Let me know what you guys think!

The opera house was abuzz with gossip.

The opera had just been purchased by a new owner.

Chorus girls peaked around the corner to catch a glimpse.

A small man walked out of Andre and Firmin’s office looking pleased with himself. He wore a smart suit and had a small Dali mustache. 

“It’s the new owner.” whispered one.

“Look! That must be his wife!” another pointed.

A tall woman wearing a floor-length fur coat and a heavily decorated hat followed him.

She laughed in delight and the man spun her around in a circle.

Andre and Firmin stepped out of their office, looking nervous. 

The small man turned to address the two men.

“We hope the rest of the staff are as open to the change as you are.” the small man chuckled, clasping Andre on the shoulder.

Firmin plastered smile and exchanged a look with Andre.

The other manager stiffened and pulled his face into an equally fake one of happiness.

“Of course! They’ll all be delighted with the change. Why don’t we uh, visit the stage, introduce you!” Andre suggested with false exuberance.

The couple gave a showy laugh and agreed.

Firmin speed walked ahead of them, nervously glancing about the halls and Andre attempted to distract the new owners with the history of the building.   
The foursome arrived at the stage.

Reyer and Gabriel were in the middle of conducting practice for Erik’s newest concerto when Firmin sprinted for and frantically gestured for them to stop.

Rehearsal came to a screeching halt just as Andre came around with the small group.

“Ah! Yes! Ladies and Gentleman!” Andre announced.

The chorus members quieted and Carlotta whirled around.

Someone was interrupting her rehearsal.

_ Unbelievable _ . 

Andre saw the look of growing seething rage on Carlotta’s face and nervously picked up the pace.

“You all know a purchase of the Opera was in the making. Today it is official. May I introduce Monsieur Alain Choletti” 

The man gives a small bow. Firmin glared at his workers until they gave smattering applause.

“And his lovely wife Andrea.” Andre finished. The hard look stressed the stiff smile he gave the crowd. They gave another small applause. It was enough to satisfy the couple.

Choletti walked stepped forward, and the managers panicked. 

“Oh god in heaven, he’s going to make a speech!” Andre hissed. His partner quickly hushed him.

Now was not the time to panic.

“This is a moment we will never forget.” Choletti began.

Carlotta gave a very audible huff. Andre glared at her but that did nothing to stop the prima donna from rolling her eyes and putting on a show of disinterest.

Choletti was about to go on when the doors opened.

All color drained from Andre’s face.

Firmin clutched Andre’s arm to keep from falling.

Reyer and Gabriel exchanged a frightened and exasperated look.

Even Carlotta put a stop to her show of upset.

Andre was the first to recover. “Ah! Monsieur De Champdivers!” Andre exclaimed. His smile was so wide it hurt now. Why did pretending things weren’t collapsing around you require you to smile so much?

Erik strode towards the stage. “And what is happening here?” he asked in an even voice.

Andre and Firmin both froze.

Firmin gave a forced laugh and clapped his hands. “Perfect timing old man! We were just introducing our delightful new owners, Mons-”

“Erik heard the introduction.” Erik clarified. He stood about a head taller than anyone else in the room. “Erik would like to know why it is it interrupting his performer's rehearsal?” The menacing man asked.

Andre could feel the sweat pouring off his forehead. Damn it all.

Choletti stepped forward and smiled at Erik. “I don’t believe we have met. I am Alain Choletti. I am the owner as of tonight.” He grasped his wife’s hand and brought her forward. The woman gives Erik a painted red smile. Her gaze was entirely fixed on Erik’s mask. He met her gaze with steely eyes. He made no move to introduce himself.

“This is Erik De Champdivers. He’s a musical director here. An advisor of sorts. I’m sure you’ll find him to very... knowledgeable.” Firmin assured Choletti.

Choletti squinted. “Yes… I’m sure I will… if you don’t mind me asking, monsieur, why are you wear-”

“Erik minds, in fact.” Erik interrupted. His yellow eyes narrowed into slits and he leaned slightly over Choletti as to truly tower over him. The intimidation worked and Choletti closed his mouth.

“If you’ll excuse Erik, monsieur, he has somewhere to be.” Erik ended the conversation. He carried on off the stage.    
Once out of sight, he growled. The nerve. No matter how many times Erik has saved his managers from doom they always seem to seek it out again. Those so-called ‘owners’ would be nothing but trouble.

Erik opened a passage to the underground and began his descent. He put away thoughts of Choletti and his wife. He had much pleasanter things to consider.

 

Erik wasn’t sure when in the three months he had been teaching Christine that he had fallen in love with her.   
It could have been the first time Christine sang Erik’s jewel aria Think Of Me from his opera Hannibal. It could have been the night he stayed till dawn listening to her ghost stories from the far north. It could have been any of their midnight walks around the river outside of the opera house or perhaps one of the thousands of occasions Erik watched Christine experiment on arranging her wild hair.

He wasn’t sure what put him over the edge. It could have been her magnificent voice or the way she snorted when she laughed. How her face would light up at a good story or how her temper flashed when he pushed her too hard. He loved her courage, her faith, her kindness, and her devotedness. Her loyalty never forgot a good deed and her sense of humor always astounded him.

He was staring and clutching his present for her when she finally looked up. She appeared to be clipping her toenails. 

“ _ Ange _ ? What are doing here? You aren’t due for another hour.” Christine tutted. She folded up her clippers and turned to him.

His heart thudded at her pet name.  _ Ange _ . He was her angel. She had told him the story of her father and the angel of music. When she adopted the title as an affectionate name for him, Erik had cried. He had never felt such love before. Not even his own mother loved so well. Christine was the best of women and Erik could never be persuaded otherwise.

“Erik thought you might like the company, my sweet.” He replied. He held out the package to her and hid his excitement.

Or so he thought.

 

Christine was not sure why Erik seemed so thrilled to be handing her a package but she did not care for it. Erik's history of getting excited about things that spelled trouble or work for Christine was too recent and longstanding to put aside her suspicion. 

She didn’t bother to hide her reluctance as she took it.

_ Please don’t be more sheet music, please don’t be more sheet music _ , She chanted silently.

Christine still shuddered at the thought of the last time he barged in with a bundle of music  _ they had to work on right now _ .

She opened the box.

Her heart near stopped and whatever air she had in her lungs whooshed out.

“ _ Ange _ , It’s beautiful!” Christine exclaimed.    
She pulled a lovely egg white silk dress from the box and squeaked in delight when she saw the full length. Oh, it was perfect! So soft! And what pretty flowers around the neckline! Christine hugged it to her and tried to imagine wearing it. She would wear her hair down, with a flower crown of matching flowers, and perhaps that lovely locket Erik gifted her two weeks ago. Everyone in the room eyes would be on her-

Christine’s fantasy came to a screeching stop. What room would she be wearing this in? What sort of event? It was too lovely to wear only in the house!

Christine looked to her friend and narrowed her eyes into slits. He was up to something, she knew it.

“Erik, what is this for?” She demanded. Christine had no patience for his cloak and dagger routine today. 

Erik chuckled and took her small hand in his. She was still clutching the dress. She admired the way the fabric seemed to glide-

“ _ Cherie _ , You will make your debut. Erik has it all arranged. This is to be your dress.”

Christine had no words.

“But-but-” Christine spluttered. She nearly dropped the dress in surprise and dove to catch it. She was not ruining it  “I’m not ready yet!” She shrieked. 

She couldn’t make her debt now! She wasn’t comfortable with her upper registry yet! She has never performed in front of a crowd! She was having second doubts about leaving her hair down in this dress! She wasn’t ready!

Erik shook his head. “You’re wrong Christine. You’re more than ready. To wait any longer would be a mistake. The opera is throwing a welcoming party for the new so-called owners. It can expect performances from the lowest chorus member to the Prima Donna will take place. Your voice will join there’s and triumph. Go, try your dress on. Let’s see how it looks.”

 

Andre didn’t want to be throwing this gala.

In the two weeks, Choletti and his wife had been there they had proved to be nothing but a nuisance. 

Andrea had sent various stagehands to take a full inventory of the opera house, making the actual performances taking place run wild with mishaps. The woman was a menace, quickly making enemies in abundance. 

She and La Carlotta had clashed near immediately. With an insult to her talent directly before the opening performance of Erik’s newest opera Le prince masqué du Caucase Carlotta refused to go on. Choletti threatened to fire both Firmin and Andre if they couldn’t find a replacement. 

Luckily, Madame Biancarolli was eager to take Carlotta’s place on stage.

Andre had never been more relieved that Erik was so preoccupied.

It left him wondering what exactly Erik was up to.

Whatever it was, he hoped it would hold his attention for a little longer.

His mind turned over to his conversation with Choletti and Andrea he had at the beginning of the gala.

 

_ “Your Prima Donna is so charming.” Andrea lied. She fanned herself with her fan and smiled at Andre. She was not a talented liar but Andre didn’t dare call her out. _

_ “Yes, Senora Carlotta is talented.” Firmin agreed with a panicked chuckle.  _

_ Choletti smiled and wagged his finger. _

_ Oh lord above, that didn’t bode well, Andre moaned to himself. _

_ Now what? _

_ “Yes, very charming” Choletti agreed. “And talented too. She’s almost as talented as my darling wife.” _

_ Andrea laughed. “Oh dearest, you flatter me.” She turned to the two managers. “I do love to sing. I have a true natural talent. I can’t wait to make my debut on the Paris stage.” _

_ Andre froze.  _

_ His eyes snapped to Firmin, who had a similarly panicked facial expression. _

_ “Whatever do you mean?” Andre asked. He forced cheer into his tone and hoped they mistook his smile for sincere. _

_ Choletti’s eyes gleamed at the question. “After this upcoming run of  that De Champers fellows little project, we shall be putting on Norma, with Andrea starring.” _

_ Andre and Firmin immediately locked eyes. _

_ Years of working together made it easy for them to read each other.  _

_ Are we going to stop this train wreck ourselves or let Erik handle it? Andre asked with a tilt of his head.  _

_ Firmin looked between Choletti and Andrea before gesturing at himself and Andre. _

_ It seemed it was up to them to put an end to the idea. _

_ “I’m sorry, but Monsieur De Champdivers would be terribly offended if we didn’t run Hannibal as planned.” Andre replied with care. _

_ Choletti and Andrea frowned.  _

_ “Well if we can’t perform Norma as we planned, can’t Andrea play the lead in Hannibal?” Choletti asked. _

_ Andrea gasped and smiled. “Oh yes! That would be perfect! There is the most beautiful aria for Elissa! Stunning!” Andrea hummed a piece of Think Of Me for them and finished with a delighted laugh. “Yes, that will do nicely. Perfect for my debut, Darling.” _

_ Andre nervously laughed. “I’m sorry madam, but those sorts of changes aren’t up to us. You must speak to Monsieur  De Champdivers about that. As of now, La Carlotta is set to reprise her role as Elissa.”  _

_ Choletti and Andrea stiffened and locked eyes with each other. They seemed to have their own private discussion before Andrea turned to them. _

_ “This De Champdivers, he sounds so familiar, I can’t place his name. What exactly are his qualifications for deciding the cast of Hannibal?” She asked. _

_ A laugh bubbled out of Firmin. “Madame, he wrote the opera. I don’t know who would better understand the role than the author!” _

_ Andre glared at Firmin. He would get them fired with such outburst! _

_ Instead of being offended, however, Andrea seemed ecstatic.  _

_ “Oh truly! Oh, darling!” She grasped her husband arm. “Dearest, can you imagine? Such a success working for our opera house!” _

_ Andre and Firmin exchanged a quick glance. _

_ Better her be thrilled by the information than the opposite.  _

_ “Yes, I wonder how I was not informed before,” Choletti remarked. He looked at the managers with a suspicious eye. _

_ Andre rapidly sought an answer. _

_ Firmin’s quick thinking saved him from replying. “Monsieur De Champdivers is an intensely private man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him since you’ve arrived.” Firmin said. He gave a pointed look to Andre.  _

_ Andre was quick to pick up the cue. “And it’s been such a short time since you’ve arrived! Not to worry, I’m sure you’ll get caught up in no time at all-” Andre rambled. He quickly ushered them further inside and the couple was quickly engaged by the leading tenor, Ubaldo Piangi. _

 

“Monsieur Andre, Monsieur Firmin.” A bass voice snapped Andre out of his thoughts. He threw back his flute of champagne and turned around.

His jaw near dropped. 

There stood Erik. He was wearing his usual attire of an excellently tailored suit. His mask was an odd beige color as opposed to his usual gleaming white and for once he seemed to be in a good mood.

That isn’t what shook Andre to the core.

What was causing so much upset to Andre’s nervous system was the petite young girl on Erik’s arm.

She just made the mark of commonly pretty with upswept curly hair and pearl white skin marred by freckles. Her gown looked moderately expensive, and she was well groomed.

_ Who was she? _

She smiled at Andre with gapped teeth and full painted red lips.

“If Erik may introduce his new protege, Mademoiselle Christine Daae.”

Her smile grew, and she bowed her head to the two gentlemen.

Firmin started. He looked bewildered and Andre wondered what was wrong now. “Daae? That’s a curious name. Any relation to the violinist?”

This girl, Christine, stiffened at the mention. The smile melted off, and she swallowed.

“My father, sir.” She replied.

Andre could hear the lyrical tone in her speaking voice. He could imagine her to be talented. Erik had never taken on a student before so she must be somewhat gifted.

“This is Monsieur Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre. They’re the managers here. Erik is  _ sure  _ you’ll be seeing them more often. Now, Christine, Erik thinks it’s just about time for your performance. He will wait for you once it’s over.”

With that, Christine made her way to the stage and Erik melted back into the shadows.

“Did you see that!” Firmin squawked.

Andre took another champagne flute.

 

Christine stepped onto the stage. Erik said it all been arranged. She gave a nervous smile and nod to her accompanist.

Her pianist gave her a friendly smile that did little to comfort her. She hadn’t performed in front of a crowd in so long and certainly never one of this size.

She picked at her fingernails.

Whenever she was nervous when she was young her papa would be there to smile at her and she knew everything would be ok.

Papa wasn’t here anymore.

Christine was about to rush off stage when the piano began.

She took a breath and steeled her nerves.

“ _ Think of me. _ ” She started “ _ Think of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye.” _

She strived to hide her dread. She was off to a weak start.

Whatever interest she had gathered was quickly going.

“ _ Remember me, every so often, promise me you’ll try _ .” Christine sang.

People looked away from the stage.

Christine wanted off. She wasn’t ready, her voice wasn’t good enough yet, she needed more time-

Her eyes caught sight of Erik, there in the shadows. 

Of course, he was lurking on the outside of everything. 

It brought a smile to her face and confidence in her voice.

What was she thinking? She could do this. This was just the first of many triumphs in her career.

“ _ Then you find, that once again you long, to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me. _ ” Christine allowed her voice to steady and soar.   
The reaction was almost immediate. People turned their heads and stared at her in awe. Her voice was captivating people just like Erik said.

She grinned and opened her mouth once more.

 

Firmin’s jaw dropped.

The girls' voice was spectacular.

He and Andre rushed to the table they shared with the owners to monitor the situation.

Firmin knew without a doubt that Erik planned on introducing this girl to as many people in the room as he could.

His  _ protege _ ? Since when did Erik have any interest in teaching?!

Firmin at first wondered if perhaps Erik’s interest in the girl lay beyond her voice, but all speculation flew out of his head when she began her song.

Erik  _ would  _ have her sing his jewel aria from the operas next production.

“She has a very sweet little voice.” Choletti remarked.

Andrea smiled and leaned forward. “But thin.” She answered.

Firmin gave her an incredulous look.

Andre glance at him with worry on his face.

Yes, they were right to worry about these two facing Erik after the girl- Christine, he believes her name to be,- was finished with her song.

“ _ We never said _

_ our love was evergreen _

_ or as unchanging as the sea” _

 

“ _ But please promise me  _

_ That sometime _

_ You will think of me!” _

Carlotta rolled her eyes at Ubaldo’s awestruck look.   
“Don’t look so dumbfounded,  _ Amato _ . Her voice is as flat as her-” Carlotta looked to her chest and saw it was nowhere near flat. She quickly moved on. “And do you see all those freckles? What is she a farm girl?” Carlotta chucked, shook her head, and took a drink of her champagne. 

“Don’t even,  _ Carlita _ . The girl’s voice is fine.” Lucia Biancarolli replied with a condescending smile. “Though you’re right about her skin. Pity, she was almost pretty.”

Ubaldo scoffed at the both of them. “You both are ridiculous. The girl is talented. I wonder who trained her? Someone at the opera? Gabriel, perhaps?”

“And I wonder what she gave in return,” Lucia smirked. Her reply had Carlotta choking on her alcohol and smothering her giggles.

Ubaldo set down his own flute of drink with a bang and pointedly looked away from the two with a disgruntled look.

 

“ _ Think of me, _

_ Think of me waking,  _

_ Silent and resigned. _

_ Imagine me _

_ Trying too hard to put you from my mind.” _

Meg Giry sat next to her mother, leaning away from the stern woman as to exchange hushed whispers with her fellow ballet rats.

“She’s an  _ angel _ .” Cecile breathed reverently.

Jammes giggled at her friend. “Her voice is perfect. And her looks aren’t bad either. I wouldn’t mind having her serenade me.” Jammes fluttered her eyelashes and dramatically swooned.

Aimee grinned. “I wonder what  _ sa Majeste _ has to say about it.” Aimee sniggered and pointed to Andrea.    
Cecile’s laugh was a little too loud because Madame Giry turned her cool gaze from the stage to the gaggle of over-excited teenage girls sitting at her table.

Meg gulped, quickly smacked Aimee’s hand down, and tried to turn her attention back to the dream performing on stage.

 

“ _ Recall those days, _

_ Look back on all those times, _

_ Think of the things we’ll never do… _

_ There will never be a day _

_ When I won’t think of you!” _

Raoul’s heart thudded powerfully in his chest like thunder.

“ _ Philippe _ !” He hissed to his older brother.

He wasted a whole second of this stunning spectacle to look at his brother.

Raoul squawked in indignation to see Philippe staring longingly at La Sorelli.

“Philippe!” Raoul shrilled in a quiet of voice he could manage.

His brother finally turned to look at him with annoyance.

“What?” The older man grumbled.

“Its Christine!” Raoul burst.

From the moment she stepped onto stage Raoul could feel the nagging feeling of recognition. He kept staring and squinting at her. 

It wasn’t until a curl came loose during her singing it hit Raoul like a train.

“Who?” Philippe asked with exaggerated boredom.

Raoul spun to look at him and fixed him with a glare.

“Christine Daae!” Raoul said through gritted teeth.

Philippe’s face remained blank.

“ **_Little Lotte_ ** ?!” Raoul barked. 

A couple from the table angrily shooshed Raoul. He felt his frustration cool into embarrassment.

Philippe finally blinked in recognition.

“The little violinist’s girl? Your playmate from our summers by the sea?” Philippe asked.

Raoul threw up his hands in a  _ finally  _ gesture and nodded his head.

Philippe sat for a moment, absorbing that before a smile twitched onto his face. “How charming! She’s certainly not the gawkish girl she used to be, eh Raoul?” Philippe chucked. A look of genuine fond remembrance crossed his face. “What a little doll she’s grown into. Say, let’s invite her to dinner after the gala. Give the two of you a chance to catch up.” Philippe gave a good nature nudge to Raoul.

His face burned a deep red. “She might not remember me… and even if she does... we were so so young and innocent then…” Raoul grumbled. He tucked his flaming face into his neck to try to hide his embarrassment. 

“ _ Were _ ?” Philippe asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

Raoul tucked himself in further and wouldn’t look at his brother.

Philippe laughed and clasped his brother on the shoulder. “She might not remember you, but what better time to rekindle the flame?”

Raoul slowly uncrumpled himself and took a deep breath in. His embarrassment was traded for excitement. 

“You’re right.” Raoul turned his determined gaze to Christine. “The worst thing that can happen is she’ll say no, right?”

 

_ “Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their seasons so do we.” _ Christine serenaded the audience. She could feel their amazement and energy from where she stood.

They liked it!

She was doing well!

Erik was right!

_ “But please promise me that sometimes, you...will..think…:” _

Christine launched into her cadenza. She wanted to blow them away. She wanted them to never forget how she sang tonight.

With a final push, she leaped into the end of her cadenza.

“ _ Of me!” _

The applause was deafening.

Her chest felt like something was bursting inside. She stared out at all of their faces and near fainted.

She brought her hand up to her mouth and covered it.

She did it. She was a success.

The applause, the triumph, the pride in herself, it was everything she could have imagined it to be, and it was real.

“ _ Brava, Brava, Bravissima _ .” A golden voice rang out. The thunderous applause died out. There, in the middle of the room, walking toward her was Erik.

Christine beamed at him. He stood at the bottom of the stage.

He was proud of her. She could tell. 

_ Well good _ , she thought.  _ He should be. _

Erik leans into her and whispers “Come, there are people Erik is eager for you to meet.”

 

“Monsieur Choletti, Madame. This is my student, Mademoiselle Christine Daae.” Erik announced. 

Choletti, to his small credit, kept an empty smile on his face when he took this Christine girl’s hand in his. His wife, the beastly woman, fanned her obnoxious fan faster.

Carlotta sneered. 

This was just like Erik, she thought to herself. He would pull this stunt the same night that was supposed to be Carlotta’s triumph over that pig Andrea Choletti.

The hag has spent the last two weeks poking her scaly beak in Carlotta’s business. Making snide little comments about Carlotta’s voice, her acting, anything she thought she could get away with.

The snake had the audacity to tell her toady little husband she was dissatisfied with Carlotta’s tone!

Carlotta did not let it stand. She refused to go on that night.

Lucia, the saucy little wench, kept Carlotta from fully making her point but it still should have been enough to make it clear who had earned their way into the Garnier and who bought it.

That’s when Carlotta caught wind of the rumors. All this time that haggard witch was vying for Carlotta’s spot as Prima Donna!

Carlotta spent the next week rehearsing like a mad woman so she could show up this Andrea.

And now Erik showed up with his precious little ingenue. He had been scampering around all night to put her on display.

It was all so frustrating she could tear her hair pieces it and stuff them down that masked buffoon's throat!

Carlotta snarled and slammed her fourth glass of champagne.

She would show them.

She stomped over to Erik.

“Monsieur.” She said in a way of greeting. The man looked down at her from his great height. Carlotta and Erik were on... interesting terms.

She believed him to be a puffed up hermit who spent all his time alone because no one can stand his company.

He thought her a drama queen with too much self-importance and not enough talent.

They had a shaky truce out of necessity as there were few performers able to replace Carlotta and none to replace Erik. 

“Senora.” He replied. 

The two nodded to each other. Carlotta’s eyes slid to the bug-eyed little girl next to him.

“Christine, this is La Carlotta Giudicelli, the current Prima Donna. Senora, this is Christine Daae, Erik’s new student.”

The girl bowed her head and smiled. She had ghastly teeth. Carlotta was completely distracted by the gaping gap between her two front teeth.

“It’s a pleasure, Senora.” The girl said. Her voice had a squeaky, nasal undertone Carlotta knew carried on to her singing.

Carlotta looked at her disdainfully. “Yes.” She replied. “What a gown you have on. So... simple.”

This Christine child’s starchy white skin flushed red with what appeared to be pleasure.

Carlotta’s scowl curled. No voice and no taste.

“It might be the loveliest thing I own.” Christine replied. She looked down at the off white fabric with a loving gaze.

“The loveliest thing you own, as anyone here can attest to, is your voice, my dear.” Erik corrected her.

She looked up at him with that unattractive beaming smile.

Carlotta’s eyes flickered at the both of them and her stomach churned.

_ The little witch is definitely sleeping with him, _ Carlotta scrutinized.

A cold smile found its way to her face.

“Yes, what a voice you have.” Carlotta praised in a sickly sweet tone “It was very obviously your first performance. How brave you must be to put yourself on display like that.”

Erik’s yellow eyes snapped to Carlotta’s face. She sweetly smiled in return, fluttering her eyelashes. Carlotta could play his little game better than he could and Erik can die mad about it.

“Brave? Erik wouldn’t call it that. Christine was born with such a natural ability she could have walked onto that stage as a toddler and performed with more soul than some of the divas here in this opera house, wouldn’t you agree?” Erik asked. He thought he was so superb at hiding his snide accusatory undertone.

Carlotta felt her blood boil. For three years he’s been complaining of her so-called soulless singing. It didn’t matter if her pitch, her tone, her texture was perfect. Every rehearsal, every performance he had a condescending comment about the emotional quality in her voice. At least she had personal quality, unlike the little flea he dragged up from the gutter to sing. 

“Not at all, Monsieur. Natural ability is one thing, for sure, but a true diva will get nowhere with just that. You have to have taste. Knowing the right people, so on and so forth, won’t make you a true artist.” Carlotta replied with ease she didn’t feel.

She could feel the heat of his glare and delighted on it.

“Erik agrees. Despite being so closely...acquainted with your fellow cast members, it hasn’t surely hasn’t improved your performance, nor has it improved your taste. Your little mutts can attest to your lacking in that department, Madame!”

 

Christine had long stopped attending to Erik’s conversation with La Carlotta. Erik’s dislike of the woman was only diverting for so long. 

She looked around with a slightly bored expression. She amused herself by ogling at the ladies dresses before she caught sight of a boy.

He kept jerking his head and motioning for her to follow him.

Christine glanced at Erik, who was still occupied by his heated debate with his Prima Donna.

Christine worried her lip, glancing at the boy, and then back at Erik.

He’d be fine, she reasoned, this was his world. He was the one who should be worried about her.

Christine gently touched his sleeve and moved to follow the boy.

He led her not so far away and Christine felt more at ease with her decision to leave Erik’s side. He could surely find her easily in the crowd.

The boy spun and grasped her forearms. Christine gasped in surprise.

“Do you remember me?!” He asked frantically.

Christine stared at him. This was awkward. Not at all what she was expecting.

She forced a laugh and smile. “No?” She answered. She wanted to add something but was at a loss for words. 

The boy looked crushed. “Really? Not even a little, Christine?” He pleaded.

Christine shifted from awkward to uncomfortable. She gently took his hands off of her arms and gave him a kind smile.

“I’m sorry, monsieur.” She laughed nervously “I’m afraid I must go back to my-”

“I AM THE LITTLE BOY WHO WENT INTO THE SEA TO RESCUE YOUR SCARF” the boy yelled.

Christine could only blink at him. She slid her eyes to the people now staring at them. She noted a tall, older man with dark hair had his head in his hands.

She slowly turned back to the boy and processed his words.

_ Wait, a minute… _

_ That nose! That big, hawkish, roman nose she knew so well! _

“ _ Raoul _ ?” She breathed.

His face lit up and Christine laughed in astonishment. “Raoul? Raoul De Changy?!”

“It’s me!” He exclaimed, “Little Lotte, you haven’t forgotten!”

Christine shrieked in glee at the nickname. “You remember that?!” She asked in delight.

Raoul’s smile was glowing.

“Of course! Little Lotte thought, am I fonder of dolls?”

“Or of goblins or shoes?” Christine and Raoul finished at the same time, both laughing when they realized it.

“Or of riddles or frocks” Christine teased in her most dramatic voice.

“Or of chocolates!” Raoul attempted to imitate her voice. His face brightened as he burst “Those picnics in the attics!”

Memories grasped Christine tightly, and she felt she too couldn’t keep them in. “Father playing the violin!” Her smile was hurting her cheeks and she couldn’t hold back the joyful laughter.

“As we read to each other dark stories of the north! You and your trolls!” Raoul cried.

“ **_ME_ ** ?! You believed in them as much as I!” Christine exclaimed.

She got a hold on her laughter and sung the rest of the fondly remembered poem “ _ No what I love best, Lotte said _ ” she vocalized. It earned her a few stares, but she didn’t mind.  _ “Is when I’m asleep in my bed, and the Angel of music sings songs in my head _ .”

She hummed the last line again. Raoul’s look of wonder sent a thrill right to Christine’s stomach.

“Christine... it’s been so long…” Raoul grappled for words. Christine felt her heart settle. The warmth that flowed through her upon recognizing Raoul didn’t diminish.

“Christine, how are you? How’s your father? Is he here?” Raoul asked suddenly.

His eager expression drove daggers into her heart.

The happy warmth brought by Raoul’s presence quickly drained. In its place was the cold emptiness Christine was familiar with.

“ _ Älskling _ ... Papa is dead.” Christine choked out.

Raoul’s expression dropped and Christine’s chest tightened.

“ _ No _ ... w-when did this happen…? Christine, I’m so…’ Raoul fumbled. He took a breath and was silent for a moment.

Christine Daae don’t you dare cry on the night of your first triumph, a voice hissed in her ear. It wasn’t the first time she thought it tonight. Earlier she had been thinking it for different reasons…

Raoul gently grasped her hands. His eyes were so warm and caring... he really hadn’t changed.

“Christine, come to dinner with me. We can talk about everything. Please say you will.” Raoul implored. 

Christine didn’t have time to reply.

A bony hand clutched her shoulder.

“Christine.” Erik’s voice rumbled.

Christine turned in surprise. Guilt came over her. She had near forgotten her friend.

“You are being asked after,” Erik informed her. His eyes were locked on Raoul’s face.

“Of course,” Christine agreed. She flushed and gave Raoul an apologetic smile. “Another time, Raoul.”

Before her friend could reply Christine was whisked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine spends more time with Raoul and Erik writes an opera.

 

“I hear that the whole company is supporting Carlotta!” Jammes whispered.

It was so quick Meg almost missed it. The girls all turned in tandem.

When Madame Giry’s hawk eyes were turned to Aurelie and her _awful_ posture, Meg quickly leaned toward her friend with furrowed brows.

“Supporting her in what?” Meg asked.

Jammes looked at Meg in surprise. She exchanged a glance with Aimee, who looked to be equally shocked at Meg’s ignorance.

Madame Giry barked an order at the girls.

They quickly moved into passé as instructed.

Once the ballet mistress had focused on Esme’s too high leg, Cecelie moved toward Meg ever so slightly.

“Madame Choletti and La Carlotta are fighting.” She whispered rapidly, darting eyes never straying from Meg’s mother.

Meg’s brow crinkled.

The girls moved away from each other just as Madame Giry looked up. She moved across the room, now speaking to Jammes and Aimee.

Meg made a move to ask her friend for more information, only to catch the eye of La Sorelli, who was going through the movements graceful as a doe.

Meg’s face flushed. She could wait till after practice. 

 

“So why are they fighting?” Meg asked.

She and her friends were all gathered at the bar, finishing some cool-down stretches as Madame Giry spoke to La Sorelli in hushed tones.

“Who?” Aimee asked.

“Madame Choletti and La Carlotta. Cecelie said they were fighting and people were taking sides. What is the fight about? Who is the ballet supporting? Is it something to do with our next show? How-”

A thumping noise resonated through the air.

All the ballet rats jumped.

They all knew what that sound meant.

Madame Giry stood with her cane.

“Girls,” the woman began. She seemed to make eye contact with each squirming girl, knowing they all feared a lecture. “You are all dismissed.”

Meg sagged with relief.

The girls scurried away and Meg was quick to follow them.

Before she could completely exit, her mother’s stern voice called behind her.

“Marguerite Giry.”

Meg paused.

The few remaining girls in few threw her a sympathetic glance before running off.

Meg huffed at them. 

_Traitors._

“Meg.” Her mother repeated.

Resigned to her fate, Meg turned to face her mother.

She studied the woman and felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Her mother didn’t look angry. Her head was tilted slightly and her eyes were relaxed.

To everyone else, her mother’s face was the same as ever but Meg was well versed in the nuances of her mother’s expressions.

“What was so important for you to discuss that it interrupted my class?” Madame Giry asked, arching her thin brow.

Once again detecting no anger in the woman's tone, Meg decided to answer honestly.

“The girls say they're some quarrel between Madame Choletti and La Carlotta. Is it true?” Meg burst. She gazed at her mother with starry eyes.

Meg knew her mother was no gossip, but if anyone who knew the truth of the matter, it was Madame Giry. 

The woman side-eyed her daughter.

“There has been...conflict between major figures in the opera, yes.” Madame Giry admitted.

Meg’s sharp mind picked up what her mother wasn’t saying.

“Not just Andrea and Carlotta?” Meg pressed.

Her mother smoothed her skirt and wound her braid to the opposite shoulder.

Meg leaned forward, almost wiggling with excitement.

Living in the opera house provided Meg a front-row seat to a Shakespearean play nobody invited her to but nonetheless was performed only for her. She always made a point of knowing all the comedy, tragedy and drama floating around. She owed most of her influence among her fellow dancers to what information she could glean from her mother.

“I will say this,” Madame Giry declared “If Madame Choletti, La Carlotta or Monsieur De Champdivers dropped dead, the other two could not be gladder.”

Meg’s eyes bulged.

“ _Monsieur De Champdivers?!”_ Meg gasped.

For as long as she could recall, the tall thin man couldn’t care less which diva was performing, so long as she lived up to his impossible standards or died trying.

Meg’s brain jerked almost physically at the recollection that the Maestro has acquired a student.  

_The girl who sang at the welcoming gala._

The dots were connecting for Meg.

She whirled towards her mother, mouth agape, ready to unleash her never-ending influx of questions upon the woman, only to find her at the door.

“That’s enough, Meg.” Madame Giry stated. She had the barest traces of a smile on her face. “Come, practice is over for now. Surely you have something else to be amusing yourself with?”

Oh yes, Meg did. 

“Yes, Mama,” Meg answered. Her giddiness bubbled up. She couldn’t _wait_ to tell her friends what she learned.

 

* * *

 

Christine sat on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest.

She could hear Erik in the music room, banging out the newest draft of a song on the organ. 

He’s been playing it for most of the day, over and over again, each time with tiny variants that Christine had to sit still and truly listen to catch.

It’s what Erik has been doing for the last month or so.

“It’s easier to trap a mouse with trickery than force, my dear.” Erik had explained when Andre and Firmin had first asked him to write a new opera.

He barely ate or slept or done anything else human.

Christine had attempted to coax him away from his music a few times, much to his displeasure.

_“Wretched little doll, kindly stick your nose out of Erik’s way or risk losing it!” He had snapped and snarled and shoved Christine away._

Christine blinked away the memory.

She shivered in the damp cold of the house. Erik _usually_ provided Christine all the necessities for living down here and then some. He brought her market-fresh food that was slow to grow old, thick logs to burn during the night, pretty smelling soaps and perfumes, little baubles for her hair and new dresses, tapestries to hang on the wall and trap in heat.

_“We don’t want to risk your health, Christine,” Erik told her and he delivered her a soft new quilt for her bed. “Even a cold could put your training on hold, lest we do damage.”_

He could scarcely remember there was another occupant in the house now, let alone wonder how she was feeding herself.

The thought of food brought a pang of hunger.

Christine unfolded herself and stood off the couch.

Well, she’d just have to find something herself.

The sounds of the terrible organ followed Christine as she rowed across the lake.

 

The empty little walk space between the walls of Andre and Firmin’s office was warm from the fireplace nearby. Christine curled as close to it as she could manage, the woolen shawl stolen from Madame Choletti’s dressing room around her shoulders, contently munching on her bread, hard cheese and apple.

The managers had been talking for some hour now.

Christine had one ear to them and one to her thoughts.

Occasionally she heard some little piece of news or gossip of interest but mostly the two men didn’t warrant much of her invisible attention.

That is until Erik was mentioned.

“I don’t know how we are the mention with the three of them being so impossible!” Firmin declared.

Christine looked up from her meal. Somehow, she sensed who they were speaking of.

“Carlotta has been more impossible than the norm for Gabriel, That Andrea woman has been making threats left and right, and _De Champdivers_! Well! I’d just as soon think _he’s_ contending for the role of Prima Donna with his deplorable behavior!” The taller man grouched.

Andre sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“He’s not the only one making threats. I received Ubaldo Piangi earlier this week, who informed me that the company would proudly stand behind Carlotta during her ‘trial’, I believe he called it.”

This caused Firmin to groan.

Christine’s eyes widened. What did this all mean?

Stand behind Carlotta? Trial?

Christine’s sharp mind whirled. Obviously, _someone_ wanted the woman off the stage and were not being shy about that opinion.

Christine’s mind immediately thought of Erik, but she quickly turned that thought out.

She knew Erik wasn’t contending for _anything_ right now, let alone advocating for any changes in the current production. That would require him to turn away from his newest obsession for even a moment.

Christine paused her thoughts when she heard the men speak again.

“-Choletti thinks because he owns the building now he has some sort of entitlement to the ‘artistic direction’.” Andre snorted.

Firmin let out a snort.

Christine leaned forward, enthralled by the new information.

“Artistic direction? As if he, or either of us for any matter, could hope to hold any sway over the stage we profit from. No, I don’t care how much that man’s wife screams and what kind of tantrums she throws, it compares nothing to the sort of chaos De Champdivers will throw us all into if _he_ doesn’t get his way. He sent one of his famous notes recently kindly informing me that soon his opera will be ready-”

Christine was so surprised by this, not only did she gasp, but she flew back, knocking into the wall behind her with a thud.

There was silence.

“Do, d-do you uh, think-” Andre stuttered.

Christine heard Firmin stand.

“Who’s there?” He demanded.

Christine gaped.

What was she to answer?

She had no business being there, no excuse for her eavesdropping.

Firmin repeated his question in a hotter tone while Christine tried to get her voice to work.

“The ghost?” She finally croaked out.

The silence that followed threatened to choke Christine, so she tore through the walkway, and raced home.

 

Christine docked the boat and stepped on to the stone walkway leading inside.

She turned over what she had found out in her mind like pretty stones.

Carlotta’s position in the opera house was threatened... by Andrea Choletti?

It made sense to Christine, from what little she knew of the woman.

She took things from her dressing room from time to time and often saw her in a spat with a worker or singing to herself alone in there.

Erik had trained Christine’s ear and her voice and she could tell the woman had no extraordinary talent. She seemed to have knowledge of basic training but seemed to think herself above but the barest structures of it.

Andrea’s voice wasn’t anything compared to the current Prima Donna.

Christine had grown steady and grudging respect for Carlotta’s talent, as well as a healthy but not overwhelming dose of jealousy.

Carlotta’s voice was big and full and so much more compared to Christine’s light and lyrical voice.

While Carlotta’s voice was technically perfect, Erik always said it was like a machine. It held no emotion and therefore, was worthless.

Christine held herself to a different opinion, but never challenged Erik on the topic.

There was never a real need.

Christine stepped inside the house.

She mindlessly took of her stolen shawl, feeling hot.

As soon as she threw the thing onto the couch, alarm bells sounded in her mind.

_It’s hot in here,_ Christine thought to herself.

She spun around to face the fireplace and found it lit.

That’s when she finally noticed she could no longer hear the organ playing.

“Christine?” Erik’s rich voice called out from deeper within the house.

Christine could have cried with relief.

_He’s back._

 

Christine melodized the last note of the aria and gasped for air.

It was lovely, with a gentle but powerful rising and falling melody, poetic lyrics, a sort of innocent wisdom infused within. 

Erik turned away from the piano and faced her. A wry, tired smile played on his thin lips.

“Was that at all what you pictured?” Christine asked. She wrung her wrist in a nervous gesture. If the song didn’t sound right she feared he’d go back into manically writing till he reached the melody in his head.

“Perfection,” Erik replied.

The tension leaked out of Christine’s shoulders.

“Of course, there are a few minor things, but nothing a little rehearsal can’t cure. Erik has been terribly neglectful of your tutelage, which must also be accounted for.” He stated.

Christine's heart jerked at the statement. Her anxiety was odd. Just as soon as she felt she had nothing to fear it came back again, ready to remind her of other worries.

He shut the lid of the piano.

Christine’s chest tightened with emotion.

“That’s not _my_ fault.” Christine stuttered out with some effort.

She felt her face go hot and irritation mingles with her nerves.

Erik once again turned to look at her and sighed.

“No, it’s not.” He agreed.

He drummed his long fingers on the lid of the piano.

Christine wanted to speak but felt choked with conflicting feelings.

She was _happy_ he had returned to her, she was _angry_ at him for ignoring her, she was  _scared_ because she had been abandoned once again, and she felt _guilty_ for being angry when Erik was only doing his job. The one that _actually paid him._

He couldn’t afford to keep her warm and fed and educated if he didn’t do his job _sometimes._

It was unfair of her to put a claim on his time like that, she knew, but couldn’t help but feel frustrated and rejected at his abnormal lack of attention. It had felt like years since she had become his student and never had he taken his eyes off her for so long. It was almost uncomfortable. 

She wanted to tell him all of this.

She opened her mouth to do it.

Instead, Christine asked him, “What is your new opera about?”

Erik minutely relaxed and Christine knew that it relieved him that he didn’t have to explain himself to her.

Before she could sort out the swell of emotion upon realizing that, Erik began to respond.

“It centers on three characters: The Crone, The Lover, and The Maiden. They all attempt to unite a couple in ridiculous and conflicting ways.” Erik replied.

He handed a small stack of papers for Christine to examine.

She took them and raised an eyebrow at him. “How Shakespearean.” She replied.

She skimmed through his notes on the production.

To her shock, it was a comedy.

Erik chuckled at Christine’s expression.

“Surprised, my dear?” He asked.

Christine suppressed a grin. “Pleasantly so.” She answered in a light tone.

That time she couldn’t hide her smirk.

She looked up at Erik and exaggeratedly fluttered her eyelashes.

“I don’t _suppose,_ Maestro,” She teased “that you could spare a part in your wondrous production for an aspiring soprano? My teacher would be much obliged.”

Erik’s expression turned stonily serious.

“Well, mademoiselle, Erik might have a minor role for you, given your acting abilities. As for your teacher, Erik is reluctant to do him any favors. He’s heard he is quite the beast”

Christine giggled in delight.

Erik leaned forward.

“Would the part of The Maiden suit you, my dear?” Erik mock offered.

Christine’s laughs grew louder.

She was abruptly thrilled.

Oddly enough, her eyes misted over with tears as she laughed.

“I dare say it would.” She whispered roughly.

She tried to swallow back her tears and her smile but succeeded in neither.

Concern colored what little of Erik’s expression she could make out.

“What’s wrong, ma chérie **?”** Erik murmured.

He reached out a large bony hand and cupped her face.

Christine gave a watery laugh and a sniff.

“Nothing. I just missed talking to you I suppose.” She replied.

Erik’s expression became much harder to read but not unfamiliar.

Christine thought it was rather tender, or as tender as prickly Erik could get.

He rubbed his thumb along her cheek.

It suddenly struck Christine as odd. He rarely engaged in any affection.

When he had helped her out of the boat, the first time they met was the only time she could recall his touch.

His hand was freezing, she noted.

And enormous. He could cover her entire face with it.

Christine did not care for that fact at all.

She involuntarily shivered and Erik swiftly dropped his hand.

“Christine…” Erik started. His tone was tense and hesitant.

Erik’s fingers flexed, and he stared at them.

Christine followed his gaze. 

Curiously, she took his large hand in hers.

Why was it so cold?

She folded her hands over his in an attempt to warm them.

This seemed to give Erik the courage to finish his thought.

“Christine, Erik hopes that you know how deeply he cares for you…” He murmured, still staring at their clasped hands.

He threaded his long fingers around the back of her hand.

Slowly, unsurely, he brought her wrist to his lips and pressed it there.

Christine’s eyes widened in surprise.

Her mouth dropped open and closed several times.

Fortunately, Erik kept his head bowed and couldn’t see her.

The realization struck Christine like lighting.

_Could he...?_

No. There was no way.

Christine looked again at his soft expression.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

Oh lord, Erik might _like her._

In a more-than-a-student more-than-a-friend kind of way.

Christine had  _no_ idea what to think about that.

 

“Good morning, Jean-Claude!” Christine greeted the doorman.

He looked up from the paper he had been reading and smiled at the young lady.

“Mademoiselle Daae! I’m so glad you’re here! I have something for you.” The doorman replied warmly. 

Christine stepped closer to the old man.

He was one of the very few people Erik didn’t mind she talked to in the opera house.

_“Most people there are snakes, Christine.” Erik often reminded her. “They’ll use you ill if you let them. Don’t stray too far from the company you know you can trust.”_

Jean-Claude had no lofty expectations or ambitions. His job was to man the door, and he was content with it. Erik trusted that and Christine liked his warm manner and generous spirit.

He held out a note for her.

Christine felt butterflies in her stomach.

She felt sure Erik had written it. They had been on odd ground since Christine made her realization.

She was positive Erik didn’t realize she knew. If he did surely, he would address it. However, he must have understood that he had shown more emotion than Christine had ever seen before, and that must be why he has been distant.

Christine opened the note.

To her surprise, it wasn’t the spidery incomprehensible scrawl of Erik’s hand, but loopy almost girly cursive.

_‘Christine_ ,’ the note read, ‘ _How are you? I hope you are well. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you in some weeks and have had no news of you when I visit the Opera House. I have decided that perhaps it would be best to address this problem directly. I would be honored if you could join me for lunch this coming Tuesday. Your Friend, Raoul._ ’

Christine stared at the note for a moment.

She chewed her lip for a moment as she considered.

Erik warned her to be careful of who’s she’s seen with...but this is _Raoul._ He had no ill intent, she’s sure of it! Besides, she _would_ like to see him…

“Jean-Claude? Might I borrow a pen and paper? I’d like to reply.”

 

* * *

 

Raoul was twiddling his thumbs when Christine started down the steps of the opera.

Christine could tell he was anxious by the way he twiddled his thumbs. He used to do it all the time when they were younger. His elder brother would always snap at him not to bite his nails and soon enough Raoul had transitioned into fidgeting instead.

It relaxed her to recall such a thing. Christine’s biggest fear was running out of something to say to Raoul. Surely the afternoon couldn’t be _too_ awkward with all their shared history?

He stood, sending the bouquet of bright daisies and peonies flying out of his lap, which he almost tumbled down the stairs in a mad scramble to snatch before any of the flowers were smashed.

By the time he righted himself, Christine stood in front of him.

She wanted to fidget with her hair but she spent _so long_ pining it back to look nice. She instead tugged on the cuffs of her navy dress and tried for a smile.

Raoul gaped at her like a fish.

His face turned red with startling quickness and he tugged on his collar.

At least he appeared to be as nervous as she was.

“These are for you!” He choked out and thrust the bright flowers under her nose.

The action startled Christine, and she instinctively stepped back.

She clamped her hands around them and looked at Raoul, wide-eyed.

His face was a burning red and he couldn’t quite look at her face.

“That's... that’s very nice. They’re great. I don’t have anywhere to put them.” Christine responded. Was that the polite way to reply to someone brings you flowers? No. Was that still what Christine went with? Absolutely.

“Oh, no no no! I brought a carriage! You can just leave them in there, they’ll be fine-” Raoul fumbled. He half jogged to the carriage and threw open the door, startling the horses and the drivers.

He looked back and seemed to realize he left Christine behind. His face glowed redder. “I-if you’d like, I have my carriage...yeah.” Raoul attempted to offer her.

Well, it certainly beat walking.

Christine gathered her skirt and sprint before Raoul changed his mind.

 

The restaurant was pretty with lots of windows and sun.

Christine wasn’t sure how the meal actually tasted given Raoul’s relentless awkward questioning and the muffled whispers and stares of the other patrons.

Raoul looked as though he was gathering his courage.

Christine broke her piece of bread in half. Again.

Speaking had always been a struggle for Raoul. He had a nervous stutter when he and Christine had played together, and though it seems to have gone away, it was clear talking still was stressful for him.

Christine tried to keep the pity off of her face as she fidgeted in her seat. She didn’t know how to make this easier for him.

“So, the navy! That sounds so exciting! Your brother must very pleased. You’ve been to the arctic recently I hear.” Christine chirped. Her cheerful tone held more and more false notes as the two of them fumbled through conversation. 

Her bread was inedible now, and she was getting crumbs all over her pretty dress.

Sweet relief flooded Raoul’s face.

“Yes! It sounds more exciting than it is. But it was a good experience. Phillipe says it’s good for a young man to travel. Of course, you’ve traveled more than I have with your…” He trailed off. His face glowed red.

Christine heard a giggle from the table behind her.

Every attempt at a conversation between them had been halted the mention of her father.

Christine had thought it practical to address the matter immediately to Raoul so they could move on but it only seemed to make him more nervous.

She heard more whispers and threw down her bread.

Raoul’s eyes widened.

“Raoul, this is ridiculous.” She stated. “I don’t like this. We’re friends, _old_ friends, talking shouldn’t be this hard. Understand, I won’t crumble apart at one mention of my father. I loved him and his death was very hard but I’m doing much better now. I’m sorry, Älskling, that you had to find out so abruptly. I know you cared for him too. Now can we please move on? I want to talk to Raoul De Chagny, not the blustering fool who is sitting in front of me now, thank you.” Christine finished. She huffed, glared at an obvious eavesdropper and took a drink of her water.

She moved back to look at Raoul and was happy to find a small hopeful smile on his face.

“So...the opera. I hear a new production is debuting soon. Do you have anything to do with the performance?” Raoul asked.

Christine relaxed her shoulders and began _really_ talking to him.

 

Since their lunch together, Raoul has been visiting the opera house with a pleasant frequency.

They mostly talk but sometimes they’ll play a game like they did when they were little.

Christine has won four races, two games of hiding and seek and one long game of I spy. Raoul has won one game of cards.

Sometimes he brings Christine little gifts, like a fruit or flower.

His company has made her breathlessly happy and carefree. She wouldn’t trade their time together for anything.

When she isn’t doing that Christine is in her voice lessons.

She was relieved to find Erik once again dedicated to training her.

He asks her opinions on minor adjustments to his new opera; he takes her on moonlit walks and carriage ride; he brings her little presents like new ribbon or lace.

His company makes her feel special and adored. She wouldn’t trade their time together for anything.

And the more time Christine listens in the walls, the more she realizes those facts are more complicated than she originally thought.

 

“I hear she’s sleeping with the Vicomte.”

“No! She has to be fooling around with Monsieur De Champdivers, how else would she be getting this part in his opera?”

“Her voice is nice, but not _that_ good.”

“She isn’t very pretty either. I wonder how she does it?”

“If _I_ were her, I’d do the same thing. As it is, I wish she’d die, so I’d get my shot!”

The chorus girls shrieked with laughter at the last comment.

Christine was frozen, listening through the walls.

Her hands were shaking and her lips quivering.

How dare they!

How dare they accuse her of such things!

Those little wretched magpies!

Christine sharply turned from the wall, making sure to stomp away. _That_ would give them a good fright!

Tears of fury slid down her freckled face.

She _earned_ every bit of skill she had. She worked day and night with her voice to get it where it is.

And they dismissed all her talent, all her skill, all her work because she was taught by a man? A powerful man.

Christine kicked the wall.

If those half-witted know-alls knew anything, they’d know neither Erik nor Raoul would ever do anything like that! And they’d sure as hell burns hot know Christine would never either!

She stomped down into the catacombs.

Sure, she took advantage of opportunities that came along, but she earned those two! If she wasn’t worth the effort, Erik wouldn’t have offered to train her!

She was hit with the memory of him kissing her wrist and let out a scream of frustration.

She thought of Raoul giving her flowers and humorously waxing poetic on her beauty.

Christine sniffed and rubbed her leaking eyes.

She’d show them. She’d show all of them,

She earned it.

 

* * *

 

The trouble the managers were having is that the role of the maiden was clearly written for, and awarded to, Mademoiselle Daae.

Unfortunately, it is also the only role with a beautifully written aria that is shared by no other character.

Andre had to listen to a screaming fit thrown by Carlotta, who demanded as prima donna she should be given the leading role in the opera, despite repeated assurances there was no one leading role in the opera.

Firmin sat through many threats and outbursts from Choletti and Andrea who thought it unprecedented that they held no audition. The only thing they wanted to hear was it was a mistake and to correct it by casting Andrea as the maiden. Unfortunately, that was not what happened.

Which has led them all to where they were now.

Carlotta sat to the right, beautifully painted face pinched with irritation. Behind her stood the leading tenor Piangi, whose facial expression was more along the lines of stony.

Andrea sat in the middle, fanning her self with a fan made of long white feathers, ignoring her husband’s sneezing.

Christine sat to the left, trying to look like she belonged, while Erik loomed over the back of her chair.

“This is an outrage! No audition process, overriding me to get the opera on stage, and blatant favoritism won’t stand in my opera house! It’s an outrage!” Choleric boomed. He finished his rant by sneezing at his wife’s fan again. 

“It’s an insult!” Piangi scoffed. “Nothing more than an insult! Senora Carlotta has proven time and time again she’s more than worthy of her place as prima donna and yet Monsieur De Champdivers continues to disregard her and toss her to the side!

Erik’s low voice laughed scornfully. 

“Erik would think, Senor, that Erik would be given the final say on casting in his own opera! Erik has given more of his time and his resources here then you could ever afford in your life. He knows who is suited for which part. The whole production was tailored to give the three women here an equal size part and you dare accuse Erik of inequality?!” Erik growled. 

Carlotta jeered. “Woman? That is a little girl you’ve brought! She’s paid no dues, has no experience, the role of the maiden belongs to someone like me. And I intend to do it justice!”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please.” Andre tried to settle them. “Perhaps there is a compromise…?”

“I’d be more than willing to audition for another role.” Christine piped up unexpectedly. 

Forming peered closely at the girl. She seemed genuine. 

He almost sagged with relief. He was comforted knowing that Mademoiselle Daaé was a reasonable girl. 

“If there is concern about my earning any role, let me audition. I have no preference over which role I take. I’ve worked hard and I know I can make any expectations of me, no matter my part.” Christine offered confidently.  
She held her head eye and solely looked to Firmin and Andre. 

Firmin respected that about her. It was reassuring. 

What wasn’t reassuring was the clearly defined rage steaming off of De Champdivers. 

“Erik will _not_ be auditioning ANYONE!” Erik thundered. 

All parties jumped as his dark voice surrounded them. 

“Erik has tailored each role to his performers, including you Mademoiselle Daaé. No one but you will play the role, and so help Erik, he will burn the building to the ground if you all don’t come to your senses!” He raged. 

His hand snatched Mademoiselle Daaé’s wrist and stroked out of the room. 

Andre swallowed. 

“Well...that quite settles that, doesn’t it?” He nervously tittered.


End file.
